


Lions

by rolerei



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: F/M, Mild Blood, Porn With Plot, Sexual Tension, Teasing, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:33:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22900276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rolerei/pseuds/rolerei
Summary: Aranea ran into a wounded Marshal during a hunt and decided to help him out - in more ways than one.
Relationships: Aranea Highwind/Cor Leonis
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Lions

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was edited by the awesome [whythekwehnot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whythekwehnot/pseuds/whythekwehnot) <3

Aranea moved as fast as she could in the dark. Her movements were quiet, matching the trotting of a young Anak just ahead of her. At one point, the animal suddenly stopped, its snout raised up in the air for a quick, careful sniff. Aranea froze and silently slipped behind a tree, like a shadow. She felt for her heart beat and forced it to slow down, taking in slow and shallow breaths. Then she carefully, quietly raised her crossbow and aimed it at the animal, waiting for the signs that it had dropped its guard enough to not sense the arrow coming.

Suddenly, she heard a _crack_.

The Anak jolted in surprise, and so did Aranea. Cursing under her breath, Aranea shot one arrow, then another. Both of them missed the intended target, and she watched helplessly as the Anak’s silhouette jumped away and disappeared into a thicket. She cursed yet again, this time louder and more frustrated.

“Can’t a girl eat _good_ grilled meat every once in a while?!” she shouted to no one in particular and was about to slam her crossbow against the forest ground, but then thought better of it and dismissed the weapon instead.

Afterwards, Aranea stood still in the dark, listening. The forest had grown quieter ever since the Long Night began. Ever since the fall of Gralea, the Scourge had spread throughout the land ground, infecting plants and animals alike. Insects, rodents, birds - all creatures that usually made sounds in the forest fled. Then, when there was nowhere else to flee the darkness, they hid.

So _what_ actually made the sound that scared the Anak into running back into hiding?

Well, the obvious answer to that would be: daemons.

The cracking sounded again; closer this time. Aranea summoned her spear and tossed it towards the source of the noise. A scatter of blue light appeared near where her target was before she heard the clanging sound of steel against steel: hers and another’s. Aranea wasted no time before dashing forward. She recovered her spear first, then somersaulted towards the blue glimmer before crashing down with the pointed end of her weapon aimed at the enemy.

The gleaming blade in the dark told Aranea that her adversary managed to evade her attack. She tapped at a button on her left chest. The flashlight attached to the lapel of her coat turned on just in time for her to spot a sword slashing down at her. Aranea raised her spear to block the attack, her knees bent slightly upon impact. She gritted her teeth before glancing up to see the face of her assailant - and was mildly surprised to find it familiar.

“Ah, if it’s not the ‘Immortal Marshal’ himself.” A smirk appeared on Aranea’s expression. “What are you doing here?”

There was silence at first. But eventually Cor Leonis grunted, “I can ask the same thing to you, Merc.”

Aranea couldn’t hold back her laugh. “How nostalgic. No one’s called me a mercenary for _years_ now.”

She paused to parry away the Marshal's blade, sending her opponent back a couple of steps. As she waited a moment for her opponent to recover his bearing, Aranea lifted her spear and rested it across one of her shoulders. “I guess only the older generation still remembers how things were like before the Long Night, huh?”

She got no response to her question. Nevertheless, Aranea resumed, “Well, I'm surprised to see you alone here. I thought you only ventured out of Lestallum with at least half a dozen Kingsglaives or something.”

Still no response. Aranea filled in the awkwardness with her movements, walking around the Marshal as if he was a landmark to survey under the glare of the flashlight. The rustling of her leather armor against the grass filled in the silence between them. After another moment passed, Cor let out another grunt and began walking away with his sword still in hand. “It’s none of your damn business.”

Aranea scoffed. “It is, isn’t it? Not like you just sent my dinner running away or anything.”

She dismissed her spear and was about to turn around on her heel, ready to leave this random encounter as just yet another night of hunt. Midway through, though, she noticed the limp in Cor's steps. She had missed it earlier due to the dim surrounding that they were in.

Before she really thought things through, Aranea rushed closer and caught the Marshal's elbow. Cor turned around in an instance, blue eyes wide in surprise. At the same time, the iron-like smell of blood invaded Aranea's nose just before she felt dampness on the tips of her fingers.

“You’re hurt,” she announced, green eyes searching blue ones. Then her brain started to put two-and-two together. “Was it a daemon ambush? A big one… a Naga, perhaps? Strong enough to separate half a dozen Glaives from their Marshal."

The blue eyes narrowed. "I said-"

"Yeah, yeah. None of my business, I know. But it will be once a Glaive figures out that the last person to see their Marshal alive is me."

Aranea let go of Cor's arm and made a sign with her chin to follow her down a path in the forest. "Come on. I know a haven nearby. We can take a look at your wound together there."

She only gave Cor a few seconds to consider before walking on ahead. Take it or leave it, she'd always tell her own squad. Even if you were the person to offer something in the first place.

Nevertheless, when she heard another crack resounding somewhere a few steps behind her, Aranea couldn't hold back a smile from escaping her expression.

"Even a wounded lion has to abandon his pride sometimes, huh?" 

"Shut up and show the way, Merc."

Aranea snickered. It would have been fun to tease the Marshal some more, but she was also aware that it was not the right time and place. The daemon that had wounded him could still be lurking around, and not to mention every other daemon that called the forest its home.

There was little room for humor and fun in this world of ruins and darkness. And that, Aranea found, was quite a shame.

* * *

The haven was located on a clearing by a small creek. Once they arrived, Aranea focused on setting up the fire first - both for warmth and light to further shun away lurking daemons. The Marshal helped out quietly, at most with a grunt or a huff.

At one point, Cor bent down to jab a tent’s peg into the ground, and he didn’t stand up again for the next 5 minutes. Alarmed, Aranea dropped whatever she was doing and rushed to the Marshal’s side. He leaned barely above the ground, supported by one arm. His breath was ragged and fast.

Unceremoniously, Aranea tipped Cor off until he was lying flat against the ground and began to unbutton his uniform. He struggled in the beginning, which prompted Aranea to make repetitive and soft shushing sounds. “It’s okay, Marshal. It’s just me: your friendly neighborhood mercenary,” she muttered several times. “I’m here to help. Promise. Let me look at your wounds.”

Eventually, the grip on her wrist loosened. Aranea wasted no time to pull open the front of the Marshal’s uniform jacket. A small _clink_ told her that at least one button must have bounced off somewhere into the darkness, but that was hardly the top of her concern. In the soft glow of the campfire, Aranea could see a big blot of dark red soaking almost the entire right side of Cor’s shirt. It didn’t take a medical professional to realize that the Marshal had lost a _lot_ of blood.

A sharp curse word escaped Aranea’s lips. She tore open Cor’s blood-soaked shirt next and reached one hand to the pouch hanging on her hips, pulling out a potion bottle that she had reserved for emergencies. Tugging away at the remnants of the shirt, Aranea positioned the bottle one inch away from the gaping gash on Cor’s chest and squeezed hard. The bottle shattered into little scatters of green light that promptly covered the wound. Cor reacted to the sensations by breathing in deep. By the time he exhaled, the healing, magical green lights had disappeared, having assimilated into his own body.

Aranea inhaled and exhaled air as well, having realized that she had not been breathing the entire time. Straightening up to sit on her knees, it was at this point that she realized the positions that both she and Cor had ended up in: he on his back against the ground, and she straddling his hips.

Tentatively, Aranea gazed up to the Marshal’s face. His ice-blue eyes met hers, and the glint that she saw there was unreadable. Not a moment later, he looked aside. If he had not lost so much blood already, Aranea wondered whether he would be blushing.

“Didn’t know someone like you could get your hands on a potion,” he huffed, breaking the weighted silence. She reacted with a chuckle.

“I ran into the royal retinue sometimes on my hunts. One of them gave it to me a while ago.”

Aranea stood up to her feet next. The hardened edges on the Marshal’s expression may not have been disappointment - but she’d like to think that it was. When she offered her hand to him next, her lips were sporting an entertained smirk.

“Come on. Let’s get you properly patched up and rested,” she offered. “Then we’ll get you back to your pride as soon as possible. Sound good?”

Cor replied with nothing more than a grunt, but his calloused, battle-hardened hand wrapped around Aranea’s soon enough.

* * *

After the incident from last night, Cor had given up on wearing a shirt entirely, instead wearing his uniform jacket directly on his bandaged torso. He led the way out of the haven, consistently walking a couple of steps ahead of Aranea as they trekked the way along the creek. Not the best arrangement for her usual tastes, but at the very least it allowed her to watch the Marshal in case he'd keel over again.

They were also mostly quiet. As much as Aranea had liked to tease the Marshal yesterday, it soon became boring when all that the other party responded with was a grunt or a huff. So Aranea let it go - for now, at least. And she decided to break the silence only when she noticed that Cor was veering towards the wrong direction.

"Hey, wait up… that's not the way to Kingsglaive HQ."

"It is not," said Cor without even turning. "I'm going back to get my subordinates."

"What? You're not serious."

Aranea cursed and took wide steps to catch up after the Marshal.

"Okay, wow, so you're serious about it," she added upon seeing Cor's expression. "And stupid, too. Don't you think the daemon that attacked you would still be around?"

His blue eyes on her were sharp as steel. "I can't leave my men alone."

"Well have more faith in them, won't you?" Aranea scoffed. "If you've trained them well, you should have no problem finding them alive at HQ."

Aranea looked directly into Cor's eyes and simply refused to waver. Clearly, they had a different leadership style, but this was a topic that she wouldn't give up so easily. So many people had died already in the eternal night because of wrong decisions, and Aranea wasn't going to let either one of them be part of that statistic.

Eventually, the both of them gazed away around the same time when they noticed a sound. Someone - or something - was approaching. Aranea summoned her spear but failed to raise it in time to stop a hard force that struck her across her torso.

Aranea hit the ground cursing. From what her flashlight could illuminate, she could see a green, tree-trunk-like hand as big as a car tire balling up into a fist. She raised her spear, but Cor slashed down first at the daemon's large arm before its next strike could home in.

A loud screech escaped the daemon. Aranea moved swiftly to her feet and struck a quick series of thrusts. Cor came around from a blindside corner, sinking his blade deep into the daemon's side. The daemon’s wailing quieted down gradually before its form slowly dissolved into dark miasma. 

Aranea straightened up, breaths uneven but they were slowly calming down. She focused her attention on Cor next, just in time to see him bending over to pick up his uniform jacket. Under the illumination of her flashlight, Aranea saw how the fabric of his pants was stretched taut against his ass while his muscles rippled with his movements under his bandages.

Aranea felt her throat suddenly turn dry. "Hey… let's get moving. There might be more of them around," she suggested, paying special attention to not look in Cor's general direction. A moment later, she could hear his rough huff behind her back. Whether the sound had actually come from a chuckle or a grumble, she would never know.

As she began to walk, Aranea noticed how hard her heart was pounding against her ribcage. And it wasn't only from the adrenaline that the daemon's sudden appearance had caused. 

* * *

The next haven was not so far away from where they had encountered the green daemon, and Aranea was grateful for it. She didn't know just how much longer she could keep walking while ignoring the Marshal's presence. They had to resume their talk, and what better time to do it than when the dangers of daemons were finally behind them for the rest of the night?

But every time she looked at Cor’s direction, all that Aranea could think of was his behind. It didn’t help that the Marshal took off his jacket the moment he started helping out with setting up the camp, showing off his bandaged and muscled torso in all its full glory under the campfire.

By gods, did she really just link ‘full glory’ together with the old Marshal’s torso? Aranea shook her head.

“... What’s that, Merc?”

Aranea jolted and turned - two brilliant green eyes blinking back at Cor’s direction. “Huh?”

“You were shaking your head and sighing,” the Marshal explained. “What did you find over there?”

“Oh… well. Nothing.”

The former mercenary crossed her arms in front of her chest. She was not going to stammer now. Her eyes reflected the campfire as they locked on Cor’s own.

“... I was just thinking we should continue what we talked about on the road,” she continued, “We really have to decide where to go from here; the Kingsglaive base, or somewhere else.”

Cor let out a huff. He wasn’t even bothering to look into Aranea’s eyes when he retorted, “I’ve given my answer already.”

“Well, I’m afraid it’s an answer that will get us both killed,” Aranea snapped back.

“How so?”

“It’s too dangerous! I mean, just _look_ at you.”

Aranea stomped forward, grabbed the Marshal’s bandage-free shoulder, and forced him to turn around. Her original intention had been to highlight just how bad he was wounded, that she’d have to be a _fucking sociopath_ to let him suffer more pain that he already did. But the sudden movement reminded her instead of a similar action that she had carried out in the previous haven, where she had pushed Cor off to the ground and begun to-

A hand grabbed at her wrist, effectively halting Aranea's train of thoughts. Dazed, she looked up. The first thing that she saw was a pair of steely eyes looking back at her, its blue surface reflecting the golden fire. She was distracted enough by it to barely notice the Marshal’s calloused hand moving away from her wrist and up the line of her jaw, stopping only after it reached the back of her neck.

The kiss happened suddenly, almost inevitably. Like falling asleep - if only falling asleep felt as crushing or urgent. It was, after all, the end of the world. The thought flitted by in Aranea's mind as she brought both hands up to Cor's neck. His own hand trailed up and down her side, eventually wrapping around the small of her back to pull her flush against him.

Aranea responded by biting onto the Marshal's bottom lip, which resulted in his moan. She smirked against the rougher kisses that followed, hands pulled down along the bandages on his torso. Cor's own hands slipped down her back and squeezed at her backside, inviting a gasp out of her open lips.

"Such impatience, Marshal," she purred. Deft hands trailing down and undoing his belt, then the zip of his pants. "Maybe someone needs a corporal punishment."

Cor grunted. His eyes - dark with lust - met Aranea's briefly before his lips crashed down yet again on hers. The kisses were harder this time, enough to send them both tumbling down on the sandy ground. Aranea managed a gasp of breath when the Marshal's lips left hers and moved towards a patch of silky smooth skin on her neck, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise. Rough hand shoved under her shirt next, roaming and clawing until it reached the soft mound of her breast. His other hand ventured south, grappling at the various belts and bags that were wound around her leather pants.

Aranea volunteered to help, kicking off the leather belts and pants impatiently before reclaiming Cor's scowl. Her fingernails dug into the roots of his short hair. The cold that invaded her exposed thighs was no longer an issue with his knee there, pressing against her core. Aranea moaned into his kiss and moved her hips, rubbing her clit against the Marshal's hard muscles. Her panties were soaked through, and she did very briefly wonder whether her rutting would leave a telltale sign on the dark fabric of his pants.

"Aranea…"

It was perhaps the first time he ever called out her name. The sheer novelty of it was enough to make her slow down, cup at his jaw, and kiss him deeper - albeit slower. A deep moan escaped his throat and Aranea swallowed it all, occasionally lifting her arms as his deft hands began to pull off the rest of her clothes. Once she felt sand on the bare skin of her shoulder, she raised one knee and hooked it onto Cor's hip before pushing aside.

The Marshal landed on his back a second later. He could barely process what had just happened, though, as eager lips and teeth tended to his mouth, his chin, his Adam's apple. The soft, silvery hair of the former Commodore tickled his bandage-free skin. Cor couldn't help but huff yet again. Aranea was not the kind of woman that he'd ever associated with the word 'soft' before.

But then Aranea sat up, naked and straddling his hips. The lights from the campfire highlighted some of her scars, but also her curves. Soft and pliant under his touch. Cor swallowed inevitably, trailing his hands up until they cupped at her bare breasts. Her green eyes shone with the fire's illumination, watching him unwaveringly. He flicked at one taut nipple with his thumb and he watched with mesmerized attention as those eyes fluttered to a half-close. A subtle purr followed shortly after.

Aranea's hands were on his belt and waistband next, shoving both of them down past his knees in quick and sure movements. Then her fingers were on his erect cock, stroking and touching along each vein before directing the head towards her warm opening. Subconsciously, Cor held back his breath. Calloused fingers dug into the skin of her hips as she gradually lowered herself on him, surrounding his throbbing member with her warmth and wetness. Once she reached past his tip, Aranea crashed down completely, taking in his entire girth - and Cor thought he could see flickers of light in the eternally night sky.

"Fuck." Cor cursed as the huntress began to move, rolling her hips against his. Her hands flat against his bandaged torso. He tried to undulate himself, chasing after the sweet frictions. It was of little use, however, since he was buried deep within her already. And still she refused to part from his groin.

At one point, he could see a shadow of a smile dancing on her lips, framed by dangling silver locks. "What is your angle, Marshal?" she asked in a husky tone. All the while her hips made a half-circle motion away from his navel. "Will you tell me?"

Cor bit his bottom lip. His hand trailed up from Aranea's thigh, caressed along her abdomen, and ended at her breast before he pinched at a nipple. She gasped harshly and stilled, and he could feel her walls tightening around his cock. He took the opportunity to rise and claim the huntress’ open lips.

Aranea kissed him back, eager and sloppy. Both of her arms flung to his neck while she bounced up and down along his length. His own hands gripped firmly on her hips, guiding her trajectory. Their moans and gasps mingled in the long night along with the sounds of their skin slapping.

“Cor… Oh.”

Cor felt her muscles tense and wrapped one strong arm around her waist. He shifted forward next, bringing the huntress on her back while pinning both her hands above her silver head. With a low growl, the Marshal began to thrust with abandon into her warm folds. Aranea moaned out loud from the sudden change in pace. Her legs flung up to his waist for support as she raised her own hips to meet each of his thrusts. She was so, _so_ close…

At one point, Cor nipped at the bruise that he had left on Aranea’s neck, and all that she could see was white. Her green eyes screwed shut with a hoarse cry as her muscles convulsed, under his fingers and around his hard length, milking him dry. He grunted and gave three more thrusts before he, too, reached his orgasm. Beneath him, Aranea let out a soft mewl as his warm seeds painted her walls white, prolonging her waves of pleasure.

They stayed lying on the campground for a while, their breaths heaving and their skins sticky with sweat and sand. Eventually, it was Aranea who broke the silence with, "I need a bath."

Cor huffed in reply. "I agree, for once."

"Good. That means we are going to the Kingsglaive base."

Aranea stretched and wiggled out from under the Marshal. He watched her stand to her feet and began gathering her pieces of clothing from where he lied on the ground. Dumbfounded at first, but a string of gruff chuckles eventually escaped him.

"You think you can always get what you want, don't you, Merc?"

It was Aranea's turn to chuckle. "It's not what I _think,_ Marshal. It's just how- oh."

She forgot to finish the rest of her sentence when Cor's mouth found her neck yet again, while his hand found her clit and dripping folds.

A smile appeared on Aranea's lips as she dropped her belts and raised one hand to grab at the Marshal's short hair. "Insatiable, are we?"

"Speak for yourself, Merc."

Aranea was ready with another witty retort. But she was effectively silenced when Cor's fingers slid in and found the nub inside her core that sent her moaning and arching against his bandaged chest.

It would seem like they would stay in that haven for longer than both of them had originally planned. 


End file.
